Happiness A morning without rain. A day I don't have to see somebody sacked. An evening without news. A picket line. The presence of people I love. An absence of things.
Category: Licks
At the Railway Station, Upwey.
At the Railway Station, Upwey You would not recognise it now, surrounded as it is with neat homes, a net curtained wilderness winding to the Ridgeway. Yet as the wind wanes and Sunday men look up from washed cars, the air reveals notes played in a high register: unmistakably, a violin.
17 Licks
17 Licks
Small fish swim down stream
from deep pools where they were hatched
spawned a million times
This small dish of rain
shines like a plate of bright sun
caught in flagrante
Coal fires flame inside
the belly of an engine
rising to full steam
Rails glint in moonlight
frost covers up the edges
of a cold platform
Where the blackbird sings
slow dawn slithers up to see
who has breakfast first
Foxes scream at night
fearing us and attracting
friends for company
When you sleep my love
dark night coils around your form
keeping safe your heart
In a tree house topped
by green leaved branches bending
in the wind you sit
Full of praise for fun
the small comedian laughed as
he died of stage fright
Pigeons sit above
the heads of travellers splat
by white spots of shit
Where contention reigns
sanity is not intact
conflict batters peace
Shoes that do not fit
pinch the toes the insteps swell
the feet start aching
Drinking in a pub
though costly and frowned upon
socialises you
A morning of rain
before the grass can be cut
an afternoon's rest
That black dress you wore
we were drinking in that bar
your legs smooth and brown
The sun on hot sand
burned onto your feet as you
ran into the sea
The garden you dig
deeper than the depth of soil
grows from inside you
When his hair was long
When his hair was long
When his hair was long
and his waist was slim,
when the booze had not yet
crackled his skin;
when his eyes were clear,
ideals still intact
and trite cynicism
was not yet a fact,
she loved him.
Keeping it Right
Keeping it Right
We've been on strike a few times now.
We're not concerned about the reason
but for the smell of the picket line.
And when it's over, armbands stowed,
work is brighter for a time,
scabs slinking in
as we look bosses in the eye.
No one can quite hold our stare.
A Vegan Recants and Becomes a Vegetarian
A Vegan Recants and Becomes a Vegetarian I wish I'd never Undertaken giving up Both eggs and bacon
Portent
Portent I was ready to go out, About to leave the flat, Had done the washing up, Had found my hat. I had put my lenses in And brushed my teeth (I'm sure), Put on my coat and opened The front door. I stepped out for the Tube With all day trippers gone, When I noticed that I had My slippers on.
Poems, Polemicks and Licks 